


A Night for the Restless

by EvidentlyIHaveNoLife



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Sansgore if you squint your eyes, Undertale Third Anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvidentlyIHaveNoLife/pseuds/EvidentlyIHaveNoLife
Summary: Asgore has trouble falling asleep. He meets a friend.





	A Night for the Restless

It was a beautiful day outside. Asgore calmly hummed to himself as the water poured from his can, and rained upon the flowers. He didn’t hear the small footsteps creeping behind him, like the small scratch on a record which causes it to trip over itself, to rewind over memories. And all too soon, its voice spoke:

 

“Can I make a request?”

 

Asgore woke with a start. His hand clenched his chest, and he caught his breath. His eyes darted across the darkened room, until they landed upon the room’s single source of illumination, the bright digital clock which lay by Asgore’s bedside.

 

1:54 AM.

 

“…” Asgore sighed, and lied back in his bed. But miraculously, his eyes refused to shut. He stared up at the ceiling, beginning to become lost in his own thoughts. 

 

“Can I make a request?” The boy by his bedside said. Startled, Ashore sat up, and looked around — and yet, the room was empty. He looked back to the clock.

 

2:23 AM. 

 

“Well, I shall never get to sleep at this rate…” He remarks. He grimaces for a moment, remembering the eternal slumber he had imposed— no, no, there was no use focusing on that. He needed to divert his attention elsewhere. Ashore grabbed his coat, and stepped out of the apartment. 

 

The night breeze was colder than Snowdin, and the wind howled, as though it were angry at him for daring to step out into the open air. Know your place, Asgore! And yet, Asgore ignored the warning, and his feet kinked and clanked as he descended down the metal stairwell. He left the relative comfort of the building, hoping to find a place of rest. 

 

As he walked toward Mt. Ebott, the wind began to settle, and the city grew farther and farther as the land began to tilt. As he walked uphill, he saw something he did not expect, something familiar. On the ground was the calm figure of a man he did not know very well, a familiar blue coat, a rugged pair of gym shorts, a permanent grin. Sans the skeleton, lying on the grass, looks up at him with a smirk.

 

“huh. didnt expect to run into anybody else here,” he said.  “what’re you doin’ up so late?”

“…I could say the same to you,” Asgore spoke, questioningly. He sat by Sans, looking down at him. “It is late. Should you not be sleeping…?”

“well, i was sleeping, but I took a break.”  Sans smiles up at Asgore, winking. 

“You know what I meant, Sans.”

“do i?”

“Sans, it is too late for this…”

“…”  Sans glances to the side.  “youre only supposed to say that if you’re tired. and, uh, judging by the look on your face… you haven’t slept a wink, have ya?” Asgore looked a bit surprised by Sans’s accusation, but after a moment, simply nodded in response.  “hey, s’okay. sit by me. let’s let tonight be a night for the restless.”

 

Asgore sat by Sans, and stared up at the night sky. The light pollution wasn’t quite so pertinent here, and from there you could see an array of stars, twinkling, twirling, dancing, forming constellations, forming dust and brilliant shades of white and blue, interspersed along the starry night, creating a world unto themselves.

 

“neat, ain’t it?”

“That… is one word for it.” He says, gazing upon the lunar display of lights.

“you know what always gets me about the stars?” Sans asks, not turning his head to look at his companion.

“What would that be, Sans?”

“some’ve ‘em probably ain’t even there anymore.”

“Hm?”

“they’re not. they’re probably hundreds of light years away — that’s, uh, the distance light takes to travel a year, in case ya didnt know — anyways, that means that the light we’re lookin’ at’s hundred’s of years old, so we can’t really know if they’re even still there or not. we’re seein’ what these chunks’ve space looked like a hundred years ago… like a window to the past. weird, huh?”

 

Asgore sat quietly, taking that in. At first, it didn’t seem to matter much, but as it sank in that this painting in the sky could be a mere afterimage, a reflection of what that strange and foreign area of the cosmos looked like hundreds or even thousands of years ago, it added a strange ghostly effect to it; he couldn’t unsee it. 

 

Sans briefly glances at the expression on Asgore’s face, and nods.  “heh. you get what i mean. it sorta feels like… any moment, they could all just disappear, right?”

“Mm.” Asgore mumbles, somewhat affirmatively. “Sans, you never did answer my question; what ARE you doing out here tonight?”

“…heh.”  He sighs.  “everyone’s got a few, uh, skeletons in their closet, amiright? you more than anyone else, if we’re bein’ honest here.”  Sans was on the money with that one. Still, he didn’t seem intent to answer Asgore’s question… 

“Sans, I—“ 

“need to talk about it?” He looks over at Asgore.  “‘cause, well, i may not have ears, but im a good listener.” Sans smiles. Well, he always smiled. He always wore that silly, goofy grin. In some sense, Asgore always wore one as well… 

 

“…I have lost quite a few.” He says, gazing into the stars, remembering his own ghosts. “…I brought the deaths of six… I witnessed the death of my son, along with his friend— no, our friend… I witnessed my people have the sun taken from them at the hands of those we called equals… and, though she may not be dead… my wife can no longer stand the sight of me.” 

 

“oof,” Sans quips, with a perhaps inappropriate amount of playfulness.  “well, i can’t speak for tori, but for the rest of that stuff… well, id say take some solace in knowing its over now. sure, a lot of folks got hurt, but everyone’s SOULs are at rest. everyone’s fine now, right?”

 

“Perhaps. But, ah, the same could be said for your ‘skeletons,’ could it not?” He smiles to Sans, hoping to console him with his own words. 

“…heh.” His eyes close.  “you ever feel like you belong somewhere else, asgore?”

“No, not at all, why?” Asgore looks to his friend, his eyes glinting in the moonlight with concern. His friend doesn’t look back. 

 

“…to the restless.”  He says, as though proposing a toast. "to the restless..." He repeats it, and for the first time, Asgore sees his unbreakable grin waver. 

“…” Asgore feels something stuck in his throat. He swallows. “To the restless.” He repeats after Sans, not fully understanding what the phrase meant, but hoping it would comfort him.

“………” Sans becomes quiet for a few moments.  “…zzzzzzzzzzzz”  He seems to have fallen asleep. Asgore chuckles, seeing this, and lies down beside him, finally managing to drift off into slumber. 

 

“Can I make a request?”

 

Asgore turned around. It was a young human boy, wearing a blue striped shirt and stained black pants. The child was something of 12 or 13, and he looked up at Asgore with big green eyes. 

“Please?” He asks again, to be polite. Asgore is suddenly filled with a strong sense of dread, knowing what is coming next. He staggers, his heart racing… but he does not let his nerves get to him. Glaring down at the child, he speaks in a slow and comforting — well, he hopes it sounds comforting — voice. 

“Yes, of course… What is it you wish?”

“Before we do, um… what we have to do, can we bake something together?”

 

Asgore couldn’t help but be surprised. “Bake?” he asks. Why bake at a time like this? And why with him? Now?

“Please?” The child asks once more, pleadingly. “…Oh, all right.” He sighs.

 

He and the boy tried out a recipe for butterscotch pie. 

 

The boy poured several ingredients into a bowl, and the king started mixing.

The boy asked about the king’s son. The king told the boy stories of when they were a family.

The boy cracked some eggs into the bowl, and the king stirred them with a whisk.

The boy told the king his name. The king did not ask to hear the boy’s name, but for good measure, he told the boy his name as well, even though the boy already knew.

The boy places the mixture into the oven, and the king begins cooking it with his fire magic.

The boy tells the king about his parents, and why he ran away. The king tells him it wasn’t his fault. The boy cries.

The boy and the king take out the mixture, and pour it into a pie crust, waiting for it to cool down.

The boy asks him if they can’t just be friends. The king tells him they can’t.

The boy and the king share the pie. Of all the pies the king had ever tried to make, this one tasted closer to the queen’s recipe than any before.

The king places the boy’s soul into a container. The boy’s soul shakes, trying desperately to break through the glass. After enough time, the soul becomes still. 

 

Asgore wakes up. Sans is gone. 

 

It’s a beautiful day outside.


End file.
